From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: Love   
      
   by Vivian Darkbloom   
                                    Love-5   
      
                              by Vivian Darkbloom   
      
       Pling! Pling! Pling! The tennis racquet sounded like an alien   
       harp as I bounced the ball in the center sweet-spot. Perfect   
       spring day, perfect blue sky for bicycle-riding under, clear with   
       warm breezes filled with gently sweet-scented flower and earth   
       aroma; perfect weather for shorts, bicycle-riding to the local   
       park, to practice serves and backhands against the cement   
       backboard. The endorphins rushed and the sun felt good on my   
       calves as I swung and smashed the perfect serve, bounced on the   
       wall, the ball searing towards me through the balmy springtime   
       air, swung again with backhand this time, but not so perfect, in   
       fact, sent the ball spinning back against the wall behind me.   
      
       Glancing back, ah yes, the wall. The ancient ivy-covered   
       perimeter surrounding the Moriarty estate. Little would have   
       reached my senses regarding this family, had they not raised such   
       a fuss over the park being built so close to their property. As   
       it turned out, the land was a commons, the public wanted the   
       park, and that was where to build it. So in went the park, and   
       disappeared Moriarty the elder from the public eye with an   
       exasperated "Humph!"   
      
       Other information surfaced, that their money had come from   
       longstanding interest with the luxury cruise-line trade, and that   
       strange rumors often circulated about what went on within the   
       walls of the estate while the responsible guardians were out   
       surveying their floating castles bobbing about in the Caribbean   
       and the Mediterranean.   
      
       Another fluorescent green tennis ball, pling! Pling! Pling!   
       Smash! This time not so perfect a serve, and as I frantically   
       angled my racquet to compensate, the ball glanced in a wildly   
       spinning arc behind me. I heard giggling from behind the wall.   
      
       Walking over to retrieve the missing, I could only find the one.   
       As I stood puzzling over what to do (the wall was too high and   
       short on toeholds to climb, for me at least), I heard a voice.   
      
       "Hey mister!" off to my right. I walked in that direction, around   
       a corner, under the shade of a large oak tree, to see something I   
       hadn't noticed earlier: an ancient, weathered, moss-encrusted   
       door. The viewing slot had been pushed open and through it I saw   
       a line of shining faces, grinning at me through the rusted   
       grillwork.   
      
       "You want your ball back?" asked a blonde girl, her hair tied   
       back with bangs curling over the forehead. They all looked to be   
       about eleven years old. She tossed my ball and caught it   
       repeatedly, then missed catching it and it flew out of my sight,   
       causing the grins to flare up into a ripple of giggles as the   
       blonde face disappeared then reappeared again blushing.   
      
       Intrigued, I was in no hurry to end the transaction. "So," I   
       finally was able to say, "would you like to toss it back over the   
       wall?"   
      
       She shrugged. "Could. Or I could just open the gate. What's the   
       magic password?"   
      
       I rolled my eyes. More giggles. Opening the gate didn't look too   
       plausible, as the hinges were crusted over with corrosion and   
       rot. Faintly, I could have sworn I heard the whispered password   
       suggestions: "vagina!" "orgasm!" but it must have been my   
       imagination.   
      
       "You guys," an Asian girl with long black hair gave a look of   
       disapproval. "How about, Pascal's triangle?" She looked pleased   
       with herself.   
      
       "What about it?" I asked.   
      
       "I know!" shouted the brunette. "recite the 5th row of Pascal"s   
       triangle, and we'll give your ball back.   
      
       "No, that's too hard," said the blonde.   
      
       I was thinking. "Let's see... 1, 1 1, then 1 2 1, then 1 3 3 1,   
       then 1 4 6 4 1. That's the 5th row. So can I have my ball back?   
      
       "Hey, you're pretty smart!" remarked a girl with curly long   
       reddish hair. "Can you come help us with our homework?"   
      
       A face I had not seen before appeared to check me out, an   
       olive-skinned girl of the same skinny, gangling build as the   
       rest, with mysterious dark eyes and golden-blonde hair.   
      
       "OK, fair is fair," said the light-skinned blonde, and I heard a   
       series of electronic beeps followed by a pneumatic "click," and   
       the door swung easily inwards. My ball bounced in tiny dribbles   
       towards me.   
      
       I knelt down to snatch it, then glanced up at the blonde girl who   
       stood over me. I didn't intend to allow my eyes to linger near   
       her crotch, but it looked as though she was not wearing any   
       panties under her pastel yellow shorts. A tiny spot of moisture   
       had appeared right in the center of them. Her soft, young lips   
       were parted gently as she sighed, and a wispy strand of hair that   
       had escaped the ponytail drifted across her cheek.   
      
       I cleared my throat. "Thanks," I said, standing. The soldier   
       inside my own white tennis shorts was coming to attention, a fact   
       which she was apparently trying to ignore, but kept stealing   
       glances towards.   
      
       "My name is Amy Moriarty," she said, reaching out her hand with   
       fragile authority.   
      
       I accepted, raising it to my lips to place a gentle kiss on her   
       soft, white knuckles. "Pleased to meet you," I said.   
      
       "Can you come help us with our homework? Please?" pleaded the   
       brunette girl, stepping out from behind her.   
      
       Suddenly there was a chorus of girls around me, pleading for me   
       to help them with their homework. The vexing aroma of young   
       female combined with the spring flower scent, unfairly (I am   
       afraid) swaying my response in the direction of the affirmative.   
      
       "Well, maybe. For a little while," I concluded reluctantly.   
      
       This resulted in a burst of cheers, and I gathered my things into   
       the rear bicycle basket, and followed them through the gate into   
       the mysterious garden beyond.   
         ____________________________________________________________   
      
       As we strolled through the beautiful grounds, further details   
       were inked over the sketch of the story ... As I had guiltily   
       hoped, the parents were on an excursion, overseeing a yacht   
       somewhere in Greece, during which time Amy, the blonde heiress   
       had invited the other four girls over for a sleep-over, under the   
       not-so-close observation of her nanny, Christine.   
      
       "Christine's always spending time with Fanny," explained Amy,   
       Fanny being the lesbian lover, and so long as both kept quiet and   
       Amy didn't get caught in too much mischief, both Amy and her   
       nanny gave good reports on each other, to great mutual benefit on   
       both sides.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)